That some perfidious Roman foe am I,
Avenge within my bosom your affront,
And in its blood your hands and weapons dye!
[He hurls one sword from his hand.
Of these two swords take one, and quick confront
My fury wild, my grief that rageth high;
For, dying in the fight, we will not know
The keenest rigour of the final blow!
And he who cuts the other's vital thread,